Dhp XI
      Jaravagga
      Aging
      Translated from the Pali by
      Thanissaro Bhikkhu
            Alternate translation:BuddharakkhitaThanissaro
      PTS: Dhp 146-156
      Source: Transcribed from a file provided by the translator.
      Copyright © 1997 Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
      Access to Insight edition © 1997
      For free distribution. This work may be republished, reformatted, 
      reprinted, and redistributed in any medium. It is the author's wish, 
      however, that any such republication and redistribution be made available 
      to the public on a free and unrestricted basis and that translations and 
      other derivative works be clearly marked as such. 
146
What laughter, why joy,
when constantly aflame?
 Enveloped in darkness,
don't you look for a lamp?
147
Look at the beautified image,
a heap of festering wounds, shored up:
ill, but the object
 of many resolves,
where there is nothing
 lasting or sure.
148
Worn out is this body,
a nest of diseases, dissolving.
This putrid conglomeration
is bound to break up,
for life is hemmed in with death.
149
On seeing these bones
 discarded
like gourds in the fall,
 pigeon-gray:
        what delight?
150
A city made of bones,
plastered over with flesh & blood,
whose hidden treasures are:
 pride & contempt,
 aging & death.
151
Even royal chariots
well-embellished
get run down,
and so does the body
succumb to old age.
But the Dhamma of the good
doesn't succumb to old age:
the good let the civilized know.
152
This unlistening man
matures like an ox.
His muscles develop,
his discernment     not.
153-154 
Through the round of many births I roamed
 without reward,
 without rest,
seeking the house-builder.
 Painful is birth
 again & again.
House-builder, you're seen!
You will not build a house again.
All your rafters broken,
the ridge pole destroyed,
gone to the Unformed, the mind
has come to the end of craving.
155-156
Neither living the chaste life
nor gaining wealth in their youth,
they waste away like old herons
in a dried-up lake
depleted of fish.
Neither living the chaste life
nor gaining wealth in their youth,
they lie around,
misfired from the bow,
sighing over old times.
 
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